


my perfect prey

by dont_mind_me_please



Category: CountryHumans, Geography (Anthropomorphic)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Begging, Bottom Soviet, Desperation, Explicit Language, Foreign Language, Gay Sex, How Do I Tag, Implied Mpreg, Is there anything else, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, My First Fanfic, Omega Verse, Retcon, Slut Shaming, Top Third, Very slight slut shaming, at least on this site, idk third fucks him, if human countries exist then quick transport can too, just pretend quick travel exists in this universe, kind of cracky, like he doesn't mean it i promise, not like too much, retconning halfway through, unbeta'd we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:01:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26580304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dont_mind_me_please/pseuds/dont_mind_me_please
Summary: He was so sure that he would never be found out. That things would stay the same for as long as he was stable, and he would never be taken advantage of—would never let himself be taken advantage of.Yet on one lousy, frigid winter night, he found himself caught—caught by the very last person he ever expected, ever wanted, ever needed to see.And to make everything worse, he was starting to enjoy it.
Relationships: France/United Kingdom (Anthropomorphic), Third Reich/Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (Anthropomorphic)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 70





	my perfect prey

**Author's Note:**

> title is bad but i can't think of a better one
> 
> forgive me father for i have sinned
> 
> well i think other people have done worse, but still
> 
> is this what my life has come to
> 
> whatever enjoy

It was easy to imagine, easier to remember. Alphas were big and strong and independent, omegas were small and friendly and compliant; one could not be the other. Everyone knew this. Everyone thought this.

At least, everyone _hopefully_ thought this when they looked at the personification of the Soviet Union. Towering and broad, cold and distant, he was clearly nothing if not an alpha. Top dog. Dominant. He couldn’t possibly be anything else.

And everyone did seem to think it, from the way they cowered under his gaze and averted eye contact whenever they could. Like he would attack at any given moment.

Of course, those were just the lesser countries; the ones that didn't pay attention to scent.

Scent that undeniably, irrefutably marked him as an omega.

He was incredibly self-conscious of himself and ashamed of what he had been born as, essentially a weak little female in a world of strong males. Every day he showered himself in suppressants and tutored himself in confidence and body language, just to make sure he wouldn't stand out as what he really was.

The suppressants weren't even beyond surface level; all they did was mask his passive scent, make him seem more like a beta than anything. They did little to nothing for his heats. At least they worked—thankfully, nobody wondered how exactly he obtained his children.

Every meeting, he'd find himself incredibly jealous of the betas and alphas at the table. Alphas almost never had to worry about heats, only ever when omegas nearby were having theirs, and betas were essentially the normal bunch, not having to bother with any of the complex biological "bonuses" of being one of the other two; what he wouldn't give to be either.

It was rather easy to tell someone's role in the biological hierarchy by their scent alone. By this point he had memorized each of his allies' scents, and grown accustomed to the occasional temptation for each.

Britain smelled like fresh tea leaves, salty ocean air, and safety. Of course, every alpha tended to smell like safety; if it weren't for the Brit having been mated, he might've already surrendered to him long ago. Thank god he hadn't, no way he was ever going to submit to anyone, much less an ally he barely knew—well, he supposed he had to thank France for that.

France smelled like pastries, warmth, and people. He was a rather sociable omega, and just maybe the only person Soviet could relate to; if it weren't for the fact his scent had reeked of Britain ever since the wedding. Poor man's heats tended to make him extremely melodramatic, and disrupted the entire meeting whenever they occurred. He almost felt bad for Britain having to tend to him the entire time. Almost.

America smelled like fast food, gunpowder, and overconfidence. He was France and Britain's incredibly prodigious son, and an omega, thank god.

China smelled like forest, green tea, and rice; though his scent was rather difficult to detect. He was a beta, lucky bastard, and unmated. Many times he had thought, _if I ever had to choose a mate, it would be him._ Out of necessity, of course. Betas couldn't knot, and therefore couldn't relieve heats, but he could settle.

There were more than just them, but he didn't pay much attention to the others. Most of them were betas or omegas that feared his supposedly superior status too much to really interact, ergo there wasn't much he could do with them.

Out of all of them, he felt the weakest. Supposedly as someone of his size and position, he should've been able to sit still and wait. Thankfully though, nobody noticed him silently piling up random bits of clothing around himself, nesting in them. It was instinctual, in this cold; it felt safe. Natural. Absolutely pathetic.

"So you'll have your troops go through there, and– Soviet, is something wrong?"

Soviet jumped, looking around bewilderedly. "I, ah, me?"

"Yes you," Britain said like it was obvious, giving him a sympathetic alpha look that (dear lord) sent a warm shiver down his spine, "you seem out of it."

"Me? No, no I'm not! I'm just– just–" Frightened, he shifted in his ~~nest~~ seat, eyes darting around nervously.

"Ohohoho!" came that stupid, stupid annoying voice. America had pulled his sunglasses off, and was eyeing his stash of clothes. Oh no. "Mr Winter guy is... cold?"

"Hahaha!" he laughed desperately. "What? No!"

China rolled his eyes. "You Westerners are so confusing, really."

Then, it just had to be right then, the room began to feel warm. Very warm. Very hot.

And he remembered that he had run out of suppressants today.

"Soviet, do you need a break?" _Damn it,_ when did Britain's voice suddenly begin to drip sex? Because now it was dripping.

...dripping. Suddenly there was a thick bead of slick running down his inner thigh, cold and wet. Drip. Drip. Drip.

 _No. No. No. Stop it. ОСТАНОВИТЕ ЭТО._ Not today, please god not today! Omegas didn't run meetings. Omegas didn't demand respect with a single glance. Omegas didn't get listened to. Omegas got mounted.

Got bred.

He braced his arms against the table, knees trembling. Suddenly everyone in the room was at attention, sniffing the air curiously.

"Wait... Do you guys smell that?" the Chinese man at the table said offhandedly, though his eyes were alert and interested.

He wasn't supposed to be terrified—but he was. Nobody, no other person here knew that he was an omega. Naturally that meant that he was without a mate. Alone. Unmarked.

Unclaimed.

He felt a wave of tight, needy heat seize his lower regions, and decided right then that he needed to escape. He rose from his seat, muttering something about needing to use the bathroom. It was a relatively normal thing for alphas to do whenever they smelled an omega in heat, surely they would all understand.

Even as he kept his legs straight and upright, he was barely thinking at all as he pushed open the door to the restroom and ran out as fast as possible, every logical thought being constantly bombarded by a singular accursed message of his biology: _Mate. Mate. MATE._

The door slammed shut behind him, and _god fucking damn it,_ this wasn't the bathroom.

He was outside. In the snow.

And he didn't even feel cold.

He barely even felt it when his knees hit the ground and he curled up into a ball, panting and breaking into a cold sweat. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..."

His head was pounding. Sensations were building up inside him like heat pushing against the walls of a volcano. He was quivering and quaking like he was in some sort of earthquake, breaths shallow and quick. His clothes were suddenly damp and tight and pressed against him uncomfortably, like they were begging him to rip them off. There was an agonizing tension pumping like a bellows against his ass. His insides were gaping, yawning, contracting, pleading to be filled with something, _anything,_ and his normally steady and deep voice was cracking as his body used his throat and mouth to voice his needs—his wants.

"A– agh... cold! So cold!" There was a voice in the snow, speaking Japanese. And—his breath hitched—a scent.

A delicious, _familiar_ scent.

"It is... does that man have something against us?" Another voice, Italian, and another smell. Familiar too.

But that couldn't... couldn't possibly mean...?

"Fools, what do you think I've been through– huh?" German. God no. No, god, please no. Anything but this. Anything but now. Anything but...

"Eh? Oh my!" A feminine snicker rang in his ears. Soviet whimpered, then slapped a hand vainly over his own mouth. His instincts were screaming _get up you idiot, get up and run._ His body wouldn't listen.

"Soviet! Did he ever tell us he had heats? Did he tell you, Reich?" Fascist Italy said excitedly, having definitely smelled his heat pheromones. "Cool, he's like me!"

Fuck his life. He just wished starvation would catch up to him already so he could just die and not have to deal with this, wished he didn't have to lie about his reproductive system, wished someone would just come fill him up–

"Poor thing," the Japanese Empire purred, stooping down to try and get a look at his face. Her scent wafted around him, making him whine needily. "So easy to conquer now."

"Yes," said _that_ voice, dripping with malice and hunger. There was a scar running down the length of his neck, and there was an unfamiliar glaze in his eyes and he certainly looked worse for wear, but no matter how much time had passed it was still the same old person—same old monster. "So easy."

Third Reich came closer, and the smell of two alphas so near him was causing him to salivate. "Y-you," he just barely managed to spit out. 

The other man only chuckled, tilting his chin up with a finger, and the sound of his voice made him shiver. "G-go..."

"Go what?" Third teased, caressing his face and _fuck fuck fuck_ he wanted to ride him so bad.

"Go _away..._ " he demanded weakly. Third rubbed a finger into his cheek, and his body was forcing him to nuzzle the bastard for the warmth he was craving. "H-hnngh..."

"Would you like to take him somewhere inside?" Japan suggested, pulling out a menu. "I'm sure you wouldn't like to do it in the cold..."

No, no! They weren't going to do it! Not here! Not now–!!

"Isn't he cute, the way he struggles?" Italy giggled. "You want me to help carry– no? Okay."

Since when was Third so strong? He was so strong. He should've appreciated that more before. Firm. Safe. Waaarm.

The German's hands were hot and tight around his neck, his waist, holding him. He could feel the tightness of his ex-partner's body against him; a shameful, intrusive, primal part of his brain was gushing, _this alpha wants to take me. Take me. Take me._

Suddenly they were out of the cold, in a warm place. More warm than before.

He was being set down on something. A bed, maybe. There was no outer frame, and the sheets smelled like German. He buried them in his face, taking in as much of the alpha scent as possible.

Third stood on the other side of the room, and took agonizingly slow steps towards him. He squirmed uselessly in the blankets, whimpering and moaning.

The man stood over him, and cupped his face. Third Reich's hands were smooth and gentle against his fevered skin, and touching him in all the wrong places. He felt so small.

"P-please," he gasped, unable to even summon the energy to be angry as a sharp smirk spread over the German's features. Handsome, handsome features.

"Please what?"

" _Please,_ " he pleaded, pushing himself off the bed and getting on his knees. Third blinked, seeming surprised. "N-need..."

He clawed hungrily at the man's pants, nearly ripping them off in his fervor. He was entirely sure at this point that it was just the heat talking, but right now he didn't care. All he cared about was the craving and want and need of a nice thick cock inside him and he'd be happy.

The German kneeled down, sniffing him tentatively. "You smell so good, you know." The smirk was back, and Third's hands were snaking down his own uniform. "Can't believe you hid this from us for so long... you little whore."

"Shhhhut upmmhh..." His protests faded away as Third pulled out his cock and _finally it was out please please god please he needed it inside him needed to be filled needed to be knotted needed to be bred like the fucking slut he was–_

Third placed his hands on Soviet's hips and dragged him back up onto the bed, flipping him over with the side of his face pressed into the mattress and his ass in the air, and clambered on behind him. He looked behind him, seeing the German readying himself, and grew even hotter. He spread his legs eagerly (when had his pants been taken off whatever god he didn't care), and the look in the other country's eyes turned predatory. Finally, after an agonizingly, torturously, excruciatingly long wait, he inserted himself; it was so slick and wet already that his cock slid all the way in up to the hilt with no resistance, and it was _perfect._

Soviet felt all of it. He felt every bit of uncovered skin rubbing up against the walls of his entrance, every stretch and every movement, and he fucking _loved_ it. He groaned, burying his face in the mattress and tightening around the miracle in between his legs.

Third grunted, staring at him through hazy eyes as he adjusted to the pressure around him. "D-damn, you're not a virgin? S-so jealous of the lucky man..."

"W-woman," he whimpered, not really caring at this point. He squirmed weakly around the dick inside him as the Reich blinked at him. And then started _laughing,_ like the hot bastard he was.

"A– a woman? A woman took you?! Mein Gott, you are a whore," Third cackled, slowly sliding out and then slamming back in. "I wouldn't be surprised if you let other omegas in there too..." Soviet gasped, too far gone to respond or care, mind preoccupied with the sheer sensation that made his soul, his mind, his very _being_ shudder. He took a moment to catch his breath as Third slid out again; then Third began a slow, rhythmic, gentle pace—it felt strange, unsatisfying, too gentle for his tastes and it infuriated him.

"H-harder, I won't break–" And then Third shifted the angle ever so lightly, hitting the perfect spot, and his voice broke off into just light of a scream.

"Such a brat," the German purred, grinning devilishly and digging his fingers into his hips. "Almost making me regret trying to invade you."

Soviet only whimpered and panted in response. Third was holding his hips hard enough to bruise and it was _such_ a turn-on, Soviet loved being held like that when getting fucked, he loved marks after getting fucked, he loved getting fucked. God yes, he did.

The room was thick with the smell of sex. He breathed it in, let it envelope him and fill him up like the cock inside him, and groaned. Every thrust forced into his mind the same though that wasn't his— _mine, mine, **mine** _—and not a single part of him protested. He felt the bump at his entrance that was the alpha's knot trying to work its way in, and his body involuntarily relaxed to accommodate it.__

__"Yes, yes yes yes–!" he babbled, bouncing impatiently on his ex-ally's dick. His own was leaking precum like a broken pipe and he really hoped Third would touch him because at this rate he was probably going to come without it and he would be embarrassed._ _

__Fortunately there was a God, and the German reached between his legs to grip his cock, throbbing and desperate for contact, pumping it agonizingly slow so he wouldn't come early as the knot worked its way into him. Only when it was fully inside and ensuring they were stuck together did Third stroke it in earnest and it didn't take long for him to come, swearing, screaming, begging to be filled with the alpha's seed. His alpha's seed._ _

__He didn't know how long it had been—how long he'd been lying there, clawing halfheartedly at the pillows in a bleary, sex-disoriented daze, his former ally's cock sitting patiently in his entrance—and he didn't care. There was the gentle sensation of lips trailing up his back, so delicate and sensitive and soothing that he almost forgot who it was. Third nipped softly at his neck, sharp teeth grazing his skin slightly._ _

__"Mine," came the harsh yet breathless whisper ghosting his ear. "All... all mine."_ _

__Soviet felt far too fatigued to respond, but sighed, lips curling into a weak smile. "All yours..."_ _


End file.
